


Couldn't Stand the Weather

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-11
Updated: 2007-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-03 22:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's a hundred miles south of Duluth, heading someplace warm, when the phone rings. (coda for "Born Under a Bad Sign")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Couldn't Stand the Weather

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to luzdeestrellas for looking it over.

She's a hundred miles south of Duluth, heading someplace warm, when the phone rings. She thinks about ignoring it--the only one she really wants to talk to is her mother, and she won't, not until she's sure she won't break down into sobs when she hears her voice--but she looks at the name on the screen in blocky black letters, and flips the phone open.

"Yeah?" Her hand is shaking a little--she thinks she'll never be warm again, despite having the heat in the car turned all the way up--but her voice is steady.

"We're not dead," Dean says. He sounds tired, raw, and he's not even trying to hide it. She's not sure what that means.

"That's good," she answers. "Sam--"

"He's okay. He's _Sam_. He's sleeping right now, but he--we wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Yeah," she says, because there's nothing else she can say. "I'm okay. Look--"

He talks over her. "And I wanted to thank you again for patching me up. I appreciate it. And I know I got no right to ask you this, but--"

She bites back a sigh, more annoyed with herself for giving in than with him for asking. "I won't tell anyone where you are, or that I saw you. Or--" And here she hesitates, shivers, remembering the way Sam (no, not Sam, she reminds herself, a demon) loomed over her, the way he'd smiled as he'd used the truth to hurt her. "Or what happened."

"It wasn't Sam," he says. He doesn't say, It didn't matter. He doesn't have to.

"I know." And she does. She _does_. She shivers again, reaches for the knob to turn the heat up, but it's already at full blast. "But Dean--"

"Bobby and I exorcised the demon. She's pissed off and--"

"She?" It's a stupid thing to fixate on, but it strikes her as odd.

"Yeah. Well, we guess. So, don't let your guard down. Holy water and salt lines, everywhere you go. You hear me?" Like she's ten and he's her dad, or his. John had always been kind to her, in a gruff way. She shakes her head, tries to concentrate on the road, blinking back the tears that have been threatening for hours. Dean's still talking. "She used you once," (both bait and goad, she thinks,) "she can use you again."

But it hadn't worked.

It hadn't worked, and she supposes they've all learned a little something about Dean Winchester, something he obviously feels no need to apologize for; something he'd maybe known all along.

She doesn't know if it's a strength or a weakness, can't quite wrap her head around it. She knows she'd have made the opposite choice if their positions had been reversed. If she's honest with herself, she knows she would have chosen him over Sam, any way it had shaken out, so she can't really blame him, though she wants to. _God_, she wants to.

"Jo? You still there?"

"Yeah, Dean. I'm here." She feels almost as tired as he sounds.

"Take care of yourself. And," he laughs awkwardly, "it's probably safer if I don't call you again."

"Safer." She gives an uncomfortable little laugh herself, a tiny shoot of warmth unfurling in her chest that he's worried about her, even if she hasn't really felt _safe_ since Philadelphia.

"Yeah. Can't tell what you don't know."

And the warmth dies. Not her he's worried about. Of course not.

She swallows hard. "Right. Yeah. Look, I should probably let you go, let you get some sleep..." She trails off, wanting to be the one to end the call and yet not quite able to do it.

"Yeah. Thanks again." The silence stretches long enough that she'd think he'd hung up, except she can still hear him breathing on the other end, false comfort that it is. "I'm sorry," he finally says, and ends the call.

"Me, too," she whispers to the dead air, and tosses the phone onto the passenger seat.

She swipes at her burning eyes with the back of her hand, and turns on the radio. If she wants to get someplace warm, she's got a lot of driving to do.

end

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the late, great Stevie Ray Vaughan.


End file.
